


Breathless

by Publisher021



Series: Publisher021's Whumptober2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 30 Day Whump Prompt Challenge, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Clint Barton's Farm, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Publisher021/pseuds/Publisher021
Summary: Being out of breath and struggling to breathe are two very different things.He'd know because he's felt the raw strength behind strong hands that were wrapped around his neck, cutting off his precious supply of oxygen.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompts 1, 19, 20  
(Shaky hands, Asphyxiation, Trembling)
> 
> Day 2 of Whumptober2019
> 
> I know that technically I've already posted this, and then deleted and then reposted it, but since I'm still kinda new to ao3 please be patient with me.
> 
> Enjoy!

He's always been into the whole 'leaving your mark on someone (or a lover, although, he doesn't exactly have a lover anymore, does he? He and Pepper were sort of fizzling out and were taking a bit of an unofficial break) after a good night spent in bed' thing. He likes the idea of someone knowing that he's touched them, worshipped them and their bodies. He likes the idea of someone returning the favor even more. 

He's most certainly dreamt of Steve doing it to him. Who can blame him? The captain's body is built like it was sculpted out of expensive marble, after all. He's a modern-day Adonis. A god amongst men. He's dreamt of Steve touching him all over, hands roaming and caressing with feather-light touches. He's dreamt of Steve kissing him, gently, chastely and then kissing him until his lips felt bruised. He's dreamt of Steve whispering nothing but praises in his ear, dreamt of Steve kissing along his neck, scraping his teeth against the tendons and sucking bruises into his skin.

He knows the thoughts are less than pure, not appropriate, especially now with what's going on.

Which is why he tries to steer clear of the good captain, muttering apologies and excuses whenever he can. God knows the apologies were needed, with him fucking up everything the team has worked so hard for left, right and center.

It's only when he wakes up in the middle of the night, the sky outside his window clear of any toxic gases in the atmosphere and filled with hundreds of thousands of bright stars that he realizes that he's not in the tower. He's at Clint's farmhouse, alone in a bed that he is supposed to be sharing with Steve.

He thinks he understands why Steve doesn't want to get into bed, doesn't want to see him. The sight of him must repulse Steve to no end, the anger at what he's done behind both him and the team's backs coursing through his veins.

Not for the first time, he wishes Clint had an extra bedroom so that he can sleep alone. Which, now that he thinks about it, if it wasn't for Laura (when did Clint even get married, let alone have time to have kids and work for SHIELD?) Clint would have definitely thrown him out of his house. It wasn't difficult to see how much Clint hated him at the moment. He wasn't exactly hiding it.

He lies in bed for a while, unable to sleep except let his mind wander. It was actually peaceful here, he realizes. He likes the idea of seclusion, a place away from all the manic chaos that is New York. Sure, the tower is amazing, it has his lab filled with the latest cutting edge technology, after all, but out here, in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the stars and the sound of crickets at night, it's surprisingly beautiful.

In the end, even he can't keep on thinking. He decides to get out of the house. A walk sounds nice.

So he climbs out of bed, shivering as his bare feet touch the frigid floor. He throws on another shirt, this one long-sleeved and shoves on the first pair of shoes he sees. 

He fumbles for a light switch, trying to fix his messy hair slightly. What he sees in the mirror has him sucking in a shaky breath, eyes drawn to the dark blue finger marks around his neck. When he prods it with his finger it draws a hiss from his mouth. It hurts and has him thinking about how Thor's hands wrapped around his neck. The raw power that barely managed to stay contained. He remembers the feeling of fear as Thor lifted him by his neck, remembers struggling to draw in a breath and then the panic that followed. He remembers trying to take in a breath of air and then how his airways seemed to close as Thor squeezed harder, making his anger known.

He moved to touch his neck again, his hands trembling. Before his hand can come into contact with his neck, he changes his mind, letting his hand fall to his sides.

He turns off the light switch and ignores the mirror after that.

He doesn't like this mark that's left on his skin. 

He grabs his gauntlet watch, just in case, he tells himself. He snickers silently to himself, albeit a little bitterly. He knows that there won't be any threats outside unless you count the teammates that are less than thrilled with his existence at the moment.

He makes his way down the stairs, hand holding on to the side rail. He's careful not to make any noise so as not to wake anyone up. He doesn't want to give everyone even more of a reason to hate him.

He laughs somewhat hysterically at the thought, eyes avoiding his shaking hands.

His team hates him and nothing that he says or does will fix it. Not when he created a murderbot hellbent on creating its own version of 'world peace'.

The lights downstairs are off, but he can make out faint sounds coming from the kitchen, almost as if the person skulking around the house doesn't want to wake anyone up.

He can't help it, his curiosity is piqued. 

He treads lightly, trying to avoid the floorboards that he knows makes the most noise but it's easier said than done, especially in the dark.

When he reaches the kitchen, he can make out the faint silhouette of someone sitting at the kitchen table. 

Who sits in the dark?

He walks closer until he can make out the light switch, and, without thinking, flicks it on.

Both he and the other person blink at the sudden light, and oh, the person sitting in the dark was no one else but Steve.

Why was Steve just sitting alone in the kitchen, in the dark?

Apparently, he wasn't the only one surprised to see Steve awake, Steve seemed just as surprised to see him.

"Uh, what are you doing awake?" Steve asked him, face flushing slightly. He watched as Steve lifted his hand to his neck in nervousness. It was a habit of Steve's that he managed to notice, and once he noticed it, he could never stop seeing it. He could always tell when Steve was nervous or uncomfortable.

He tried for a smile, but he knew that he wasn't succeeding.

"Couldn't sleep. Decided a walk might be good. You?" He was surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice and winced slightly.

Steve flushed even more. Well, he could understand why. It might come across as strange to someone else that he was just sitting in the dark.

"Wasn't tired. The serum makes it so I have to sleep less than the average person. So here I am," Steve said, waving a hand around.

He nodded slowly, tilting his head to one side.

"Uh, Clint told me that the kids are excited because we're here. They have a set bedtime but because we're here they don't want to sleep. He said to leave the lights off if we need to go anywhere. That way they won't know that we're, uh, still awake." Steve's explanation made sense, in a way.

"Okay," he said.

The silence between them stretches and he can feel himself grow more uncomfortable. Now might be a good time as any to get up and go for that walk of his, if only his body would obey his orders.

He stands up to leave and glances at the time on his watch. Huh, it's just pushing eleven. Which, for him, is early. He usually only gets to bed in the early hours of the morning after spending a night in the lab.

"Wait!" 

Steve grabs his arm and then seems to think better of it because he let's go, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and turning red.

He's waiting for Steve to say something.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"Uh, stay. Please. I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate. Or, uh, coffee. If you want," Steve offers somewhat awkwardly.

For once he's stumped. He half wants to stay with Steve and drink a cup of hot chocolate and he half wants to go for a walk. But then he remembers the cold bed that he has to go back to. The dark, empty room. It reminds him of that god awful vision that he got. 

He's the man who killed the Avengers. 

Why should the team associate themselves with him?

When he doesn't answer, Steve's face does this thing where he looks momentarily disappointed, as if Tony refusing to stay for hot chocolate saddens him.

He already feels bad and seeing Steve's face do that thing where it looks like he kicked his puppy makes him feel even more guilty.

So he agrees to stay for hot chocolate. Not that it was even a question; of course he can't say no. It's Steve.

He sits down and watches how a slow grin starts at the corner of Steve's mouth and stretches until it brightens his whole face. Then Steve is standing and moving around the kitchen with all the grace of someone who's lived here his entire life. 

It's quiet in the kitchen while Steve gathers all the ingredients. He watches Steve until he notices how Steve seems to move the same few things around on the worn kitchen counter, his movements a tell-tale sign of something that seems to be eating at him.

When Steve turns to give him a tiny, practiced smile, he bites the bullet and decides to just ask what's wrong already. He hates it when people can't come out and say what they're thinking.

"What are you thinking about? It's got you doing that frowny face thing that I hate," he says bluntly.

Steve stops mucking about with their hot chocolate and sighs, turning to face him. He leans against the counter and rubs a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.

It's only now that he's watching Steve closely that he can see how tired and old Steve seems to look. Steve's not supposed to look that way. He's supposed to have a ready smile on his face and crack dry jokes until you want to either bang your head against a wall or laugh 'till the tears run down your face. 

It makes him feel infinitely guilty.

He put that look there. It's his fault that Steve looks the way he does. He put the team and the rest of the world in danger.

"Why didn't you - why couldn't you trust me enough to tell me about Ultron? Why go behind our backs and put everyone in danger for the sake of something that you didn't even know worked properly?" Steve asks. His voice sounds slightly hoarse.

Okay. So the conversation was going to go this way.

He was so not ready for this.

"Because you wouldn't understand, " he says in reply and hates how weak it sounds. He hates how that is the only answer he can give Steve. He deserves better than that. 

He can see the rising frustration on Steve's face, he can hear it, even more, when Steve asks him to elaborate.

"Understand what, Tony? I know I might not be from this time but that doesn't mean I won't try to understand everything that goes on. Even I know that Ultron was a bad idea! You had to have gathered that."

He can feel his hackles rise in anger and frustration, and, in the end, it could only boil down to this: if Steve would only try to see it from his point of view, then surely he'll be able to see that he wasn't trying to create a murderbot. He was only trying to prevent something like aliens pouring from the sky occurring again. 

It was a valid fear. Not that he was afraid or anything, just, you know, worried for everyone else's safety. His plan was of sound logic, however, Ultron turning against the team and the whole world at large was not.

"Give me a break, Steve!" he hisses.

He throws his hands up in frustration and can immediately tell when Steve realizes something is wrong and that his hands were shaking and he's begun to tremble. Whether in anger or frustration, or something else, he doesn't know.

He puts his hands down and refuses to look at Steve.

"I tried to stop something like the Battle of Manhattan from happening again. Because, in case you haven't noticed it, Cap, aliens pouring from the sky with the intent to kill everyone isn't exactly our forte. We have to have something to stop a threat before it decides to strike. I was trying to do just that because no one else was stepping up to the plate, " he says bitterly.

He's angry at the team for not trusting him but he's angrier at himself for putting the team in danger.

He sees the way Steve seems to slump at his words, fatigue overcoming his normally perfect posture. 

When Steve looks at him, his blue eyes are filled with regret and his entire face seems to be bathed in guilt.

"I get that, Tony, and I'm sorry for making you think that you can't trust me. But please, next time, if there is a next time, tell me about whatever plans you have and we'll work through it together. If not for the sake of our team then for the sake of the world. Because every time somebody tries to stop a war from happening, bad things happen. Lives are lost and I honestly don't think I would be able to cope if it was one of you, " he admits quietly. 

Steve doesn't sound accusatory, just tired, and defeated?

For Steve to admit that big of a thing such as not being able to cope if one of the team members died was unusual. He was a very private man and kept all of his feelings close to his chest.

It leaves him more than a little at a loss for words, if he's being honest.

"Together, right? Fine, Cap. I solemnly swear to come to you first if I have any intention of creating any plans or thinking any thoughts of creating an entity with mass murder on its mind."

"It's not a joke, Tony. Can't you take things seriously for once in your life?" Steve asks.

"I am being serious! I promise I will tell you about these types of things. I learned my lesson and now I have to be the one to see that I fucked up with a capital 'F' and not only am I the cause of multiple people losing their lives, people who are innocent, by the way, but also come to terms with the fact that so many people had to vacate their homes because there's a murderbot on the loose, " he replies, breath running out at the end of his rant.

His hands are shaking again and his body is trembling all over.

He remembers the feeling of Thor's hands around his neck, squeezing until all the precious oxygen had left his body. He remembers struggling for air that might not come.

When Steve pulls him into an embrace, he sags into it, welcoming the warmth that's offered even for just a moment. After all, he never knows if Steve will finally come to his senses and pull away. He is the man who killed the Avengers. He doesn't deserve comfort.

He thinks of the unfinished draft stating that all superhumans be responsible for their actions sitting in his inbox, marked unread. Maybe when all of this is over he'll read it. He agrees with it, if only to prevent things like this from ever happening again. Who is he kidding, he already knows that he'll sign the SHRA and redraft it so that it's better suited to the needs of superheroes like the Avengers.


End file.
